


An Ordinary Day

by adaycertain



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Parents and Children, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-23 12:22:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adaycertain/pseuds/adaycertain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike is an only child. Granted, he is also an orphan, and for the most part of his life, it was only him and his Grandmother. But once upon a time, not so long ago, <i>Mike</i> knew how it was to be the most important thing in someone’s life</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Mike Ross**

Mike is an only child. Granted, he is also an orphan, and for the most part of his life, it was only him and his Grandmother. But once upon a time, not so long ago, _Mike_ knew how it was to be the most important thing in someone’s life. 

Mike grew up knowing he was a special boy. He woke up to the bright smile of his parents as they shuffled in the kitchen making breakfast, to the sound of his mother happily packing his lunchbox, to their kisses on his forehead before he skipped merrily out the house to the school bus. 

Mike can recall, if he closes his eyes and chooses to remember, in the most vivid colors and minutest details, those days of his childhood when his father and mother cheered in the crowd as he received award-after-award on graduation day. He can recall that small diner at the corner of the street where his parents took him for ice cream every Friday night. He can recall the golden stubble on his dad’s chin as it crinkled to a laugh at the schoolboy stories Mike told them, the laugh of his mother that sounds an awful lot like windchimes.

Sometimes, Mike will still turn his head when he thinks he remembers something, when he hears windchimes, when he smells breakfast wafting from a store. But for the most part, Mike has forgotten – has chosen to forget. 

He is an only child, a special child, with the gift of geniuses and great men. He should have lived a good life. He should have woken up to a lifetime of breakfasts and maple syrup and ice creams on Friday nights. High school should not have been the hazy blur of fistfights against idiots picking on _that_ orphan-child. College should not have been the disaster in the Dean’s office when he told him the penalty was expulsion. Life should not have been the color of smoke, it should not have smelled like dust and wasted days. And if he was someone else, he would have ended up in Juvie or a streetcorner, or, god forbid, a toilet in, say, Idaho.

But Mike was an only child, and once upon a time, he had parents, he had a warm home. He had been taught by his parents and his grandmother that people are essentially good, and that as long as he had a good heart, he can go far in life. Mike held on to that. So here he is.

But for the most part, the painful part, Mike has kept them at the back of his one-in-a-billion head, never to be remembered ever again.

 **Harvey Specter**  
Harvey is an eldest child. Granted, there was only him and his baby brother, and they got along rather famously. But to understand Harvey, one has to understand an eldest child – the chivalry, the possessiveness, the stability. People think Harvey bends rules. That’s not even remotely true. Harvey clings to constants, holds on to sensibility and fights all impulses to act rash. If Harvey has a swagger that annoys and amazes at the same time, it’s only because there is something wrong in his perfectly-constructed world, and he is acting on instinct to set them right. At least for him. Because that’s all he’s got.

Harvey didn’t grow up in a warm home. He tried. He tried filling the void left by an absent mother who only ever gets home to complain how her life was a disappointment. Harvey has tried consoling his father who occupied himself with stacks of Vinyls in between making a home for the Specters. Gordon taught his sons that life was good despite everything. Harvey loved him, and at night, as a child, he would pray that when he wakes up, there would be his mother making them breakfast and looking at his father with all the love he deserves.

But he woke up to the same unanswered prayer, and there Harvey would be in the morning, making packed lunches for him and his brother, walking to the bus stop, clutching him brother’s hand because that’s all he could do to feel better. 

So Harvey stopped praying altogether. Harvey stopped wishing his Mom would go home and kiss him to sleep. Harvey just stopped. One day, his brother came home beaten, bruised and crying from a fight in school. Harvey choked on his own tears, and when Dad was not there to make it better, he straightened up and went to talk to his brother’s teacher. Afterwards, he sought out his brother’s beater and challenged him to a fight. That was the first time Harvey tasted mud, the first time he felt the sting of a punch to the nose; the first time he felt hot tears welling on his eyes but didn’t call out Mom or Dad or god. 

He discovered baseball soon after, and he thrilled at every smile and hug he got from his father, and every adoring look he got from his brother. He was mending his family, he felt. He relished the sense of control that came from holding a baseball ball, the ways he can win a game, the ways his muscles flex gripping on the baseball bat. He felt powerful. Invincible. He felt right. That was how it was supposed to be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Mike Ross**  
Mike likes elevators, he realized. Finding himself in an elevator, wearing a suit, messenger bag slung to his shoulders. He’d catch a sight of his blue eyes on the sliver of glass in the elevator, in the middle of the men and women in sharp blacks and navy blues. Sometimes, he’d find himself smiling. Not smugly or vainly. Just a glint in his eyes, just his back a little straighter, just a crinkle in his nose. Sometimes, when he’s not too preoccupied with the merits of a Motion for Reconsideration or a deposition or the Articles of a Merger, he’d allow himself to smile. He doesn’t know why. Or rather, he knows why. He’s just never dare acknowledge it himself. So instead, he hides a smile, straightens his shoulders, inhales a little deeper. This day will be like any other day that Mike Ross has ever had. Except that today, he isn’t some lost child, he isn’t some sad little fuck-up the likes of which novels have been written about. He’s a success, he’s special, he’s engaged and purposeful and finally looking forward to something.

Time to face the day. The elevator doors open.

 **Harvey Specter**  
Harvey has had countless mornings like this. Coffee in his white shirt and boxers. Shower. Put on a vinyl. Dress up in a suit. He’s had countless mornings like this, and heaven knows it’s not because of a lack of creativity or imagination on Harvey’s part. Harvey likes his morning clear and constant – the one part of his day that is entirely _his_ no matter how godawful the previous day was or how hellbound the next day will be. He’s gone to great lengths to preserve his mornings like this, before the maddening events that are bound to happen – because they always do. 

In the shower, Harvey runs through his mental list of things due for the day. It’s a habit as old as Harvey himself, one that he can never shake off. _A motion hearing. Wait, the judge is on leave. Will be reset. File the written manifestation. Meet opposing counsel for the Ashburn settlement. Has Mike finished that Petition for Mandamus? Depose Mr. Pritch for the Windum murder, that prat. Dinner with Mike._

Dinner with Mike. Two nights ago, a little past midnight, looking for a crack in a multi-million contract, Harvey let slip that he’ll take Mike to dinner once this nightmare-of-a-lawsuit is over. Two hours, three cups of coffee and one broken fountain pen later, they found the loophole. Mike ran through his golden hair, this time not in exasperation, but in exhausted cheerfulness. Mike remarked _how the battle was won,_ but Harvey knew better than to preempt a victory, so instead he stood up, picked up his suit jacket, ruffled his associate’s hair and calmly walked out of his office. Between the two of them, this is the universal cue for _“Time to go home, rookie. You did well.”_

Harvey kicked ass the next day, produced the document with evident flair and argued with an ease that took many years to perfect. Mike sat on the defendant’s table handing him documents and contracts, smiling self-satisfyingly at him as he did so. The judge ruled in Harvey’s favor, naturally. The other party will appeal, of course, but that will be for another day. 

So today is like any morning that Harvey has had. His hair is smoothed back, his suit is sharp, his heel makes a noise that scares and awes many-a-layman. This is Harvey in his element. He’s a success, he’s special, he’s engaged and purposeful. He’s had many days like this. But today, he’s finally looking forward to something.

Time to face the day. Ray opens the car door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Mike Ross**  
Mike got to the office early, checked his desk files for new paperwork and schedule. He bounced on his heel as he goes to get coffee. Somewhere in that floor, Kyle throws a contemptible look at him. On Mike’s monitor, he has a big post-it reminder in Harvey’s handwriting that says “PETITION.”

 _Oh my mornings. So exciting,_ Mike thought to himself. Still, this life, these mornings, they seem to be good. 

Mike put on his earphones and soon he’s typing his Petition, fueled by coffee, his earphones streaming music into his already hyper brain, arguments pummeling and plummeting from brain to fingertips to keyboard. He settled on his chair, geared his legs so both feet are planted on the ground. He scrambles for a stapler, twice he almost knocks down his tumbler. A book on remedial law was on his lap, and in between turning pages and searching the net for recent jurisprudence, he breathes. He checks his watch: 10:10. _I wonder if Harvey is already in the office?_ He stands up and stretches, his neck clicks and feels a jolt on his spine. 

Moments like this, Mike knows he’s in too deep. In his little cubicle, flanked by mountains of case files, subsisting on four hours of sleep if he’s lucky, Mike knows he can’t ask for anything else. Won’t even dare ask. And so he sits down and prepares for round two.

 **Harvey Specter**  
Harvey appears in court anyway even for the resetting of the hearing of his motion. He signs the court attendance record, marks his cell phone calendar, charms the clerk of court.

It was 10:30 when he arrives by the office. He thinks of checking by Mike but Donna gives him an eye that tells him either he was late for a client meeting or Jessica hailed him again. Harvey remembers it was Door Number 1, and he grabs the files from his office. He passes by Donna’s cubicle, mouths _“Mike?”_ Donna makes typing gestures and a haggard face and is rewarded with a snicker from Harvey. 

He spends the rest of the morning steamrolling the opposing counsel for the Ashburn settlement. Harvey got the six-figures that Jessica and him talked about and a tad bit more. _There should be a law against making it this easy,_ Harvey thought. Hell, he would have let Mike do the talking if he was here. 

It was 1:30 in the afternoon. Harvey messages Mike with _“Where’s my petition?”_ His phone beeps with Mike’s reply: _“Are you having lunch?”_

Harvey allows himself the first genuine smile of his day, and calls Ray to make a U-turn.

 **Mike Ross**  
Mike doesn’t notice the time. He doesn’t notice the flurry of associates around him, doesn’t notice Louis’ loathsome look. Mike doesn’t notice when Rachel walks by his cubicle, curves tout, hair flipped. Mike doesn’t notice that it has been more than fifteen hours since his last decent meal, not counting the granola bar he munched on that morning. Mike doesn’t notice Harvey looking at him from the doorway of the bull pen, Harvey feigning interest as Louis rants to him about associates not pulling their own weight, Harvey not looking at anything else but him. 

When he finally noticed Harvey, the older man was standing beside his cubicle, holding out a large brown paper bag containing a warm cheeseburger and newly-fried fries. Mike felt his stomach grumble and he broke into a cheerful sparkling smile, the likes of which makes Harvey’s own insides grumble.

 _“Harvey Specter, my personal purveyor of lunch.”_ Mike grins, grateful and beaming. Harvey couldn’t help but smile in return. 

_“It’s just food.”_

_“It’s manna from heaven,”_ Mike answers reverently. 

Harvey rolls his eyes at this. “Got my petition ready?” 

Mike looks up, cheeks filled with cheeseburger, eyes twinkling. Harvey had to fight every impulse not to ruffle his hair. 

_“My office. When you’re done. Ketchup on your chin.”_

Mike looked at the retreating figure, warm food inside him, his smile still not fading. He’ll never admit it to Harvey. Heck, he’ll never dare admit it to himself. He’ll never dare say that while his days are _good_ intellectually, these moments were truly the highlight of his days – the rare and random times when Harvey would disturb him in his cubicle; the many times that Mike would loiter around Harvey’s office.

Mike will never admit it. He’ll tell himself that it’s only the cheeseburger and the fries. It’s only Harvey bringing him lunch when Mike never asked. It’s only Harvey’s smile as he does so. It’s warm and comforting and completely fulfilling.

 **Harvey Specter**  
Harvey strolled to his office grinning from left ear to right, eyes crinkled with smile lines. Donna sprinted to reach him, red hair flying and legs struggling from the tight skirt. _“That murderous jerk, Mr. Pritch, is in the deposition room. I don’t want to be anywhere near him.”_

 _“You don’t say,”_ Harvey answered noncommittally. 

_“Yeah, so go kick his ass and stop smiling like you just asked your crush to prom,”_ Donna teased. 

Harvey smiled to himself. Donna always did get him. _“Get Mike.”_

 _“I thought that’s what you just did?”_ Donna winked as she picked up the receiver to call Mike.

Mr. Pritch was an old man but by all accounts still dangerous and dubious. Harvey had never trusted him, never would have chosen to represent him or his multi-million dollar shareholdings. This time however, the old man was implicated in a murder case high-profile enough for Pearson Hardman to call in the big guns. Harvey had never seen a guiltier man.

Jessica and Harvey sat across Mr. Pritch and his entourage. Mike came in after a few minutes, handed several manila folders to Harvey, and sat down beside him.

Jessica looked at Harvey sideways which between the two of them was the universal cue for _“Time for the bomb to drop.”_ She was gentle but firm, asking the questions requisite for the deposition, but Harvey knew she was just laying the ground for what could possibly be a very ugly transition. 

Harvey went straight to the kill.

_“What we’re saying Mr. Pritch, is this: We are representing the company, not you. We looked into what’s the best option for Murray and Sons, and that isn’t you. The By-laws are clear – "_

_“You son of a bitch! You can never get the Board – ”_ Mr. Pritch’s face reddened, expletives flying, the likes of which the human ear was never programmed to hear. 

Mike pointed at a document from the file: _“ – actually, Harvey, there’s already a Board Resolution removing…”_

 _“Shut up, you fucking cunt!”_ Mr. Pritch bellowed at Mike, his backhand fast fully intending to strike Mike’s right cheek. 

Harvey, on instinct stood up and caught the old man’s hand centimeters away from Mike’s face. _“Harvey!”_ Mike called out as Harvey tightened his death grip around Mr. Pritch’s hand. The latter’s face pale and startled at Harvey’s absolute anger.

Jessica stood up and laid a gentle hand on Harvey’s shoulder. Over the years, she has seen Harvey at varied levels of anger and annoyance but never like this. Never with such intensity, never with such purpose. When Harvey spoke, it was through gritted teeth: _“You try that shit with one of my own, you’ll go to jail unconscious.”_ He threw the older man’s hand to the desk and it fell with a thud.

Mr. Pritch stood up and left the room followed by his entourage who seemed white with shock and shame.


	4. Chapter 4

**Mike Ross**  
Mike’s eyes were wide and his breathing was coming in gasps but all he could think of was _Harvey, Harvey, Harvey._

 _“Gentlemen,”_ Jessica called out. 

Harvey turned to Mike, eyes dark and starkly protective, _“You okay?”_

_“Yeah. I’m okay.”_

Harvey seemed to calm from this, so he straightened his suit and turned to Jessica. _“That went well,”_ Harvey said, his trademark smirk back on his face. 

_“You don’t say,”_ Jessica humoured him. Jessica turned to Mike and in so few words ever so politely dismissed him. _“Mike, you’re excused now.”_

Mike’s head snapped, his eyes looked from Harvey to Jessica to Harvey again. He was minutes ago at the receiving end of a frustrated backhand. Harvey was himself inches away from assaulting a client. Why shouldn’t he be with Harvey? Mike was about to open his mouth to protest when Jessica fixed him a stern gaze. _“I believe you have a Petition to finish?”_

Mike instead fixed his blue eyes at Harvey who imperceptibly nodded. 

Mike didn’t head back to his cubicle. His feet carried him to Harvey’s office, straight inside, and he flopped himself down on Harvey’s couch, heaving breaths, hands wanting to touch something solid, familiar and steady. The clock said it was 5:20 but Mike felt like the day was just starting. 

Donna barreled into the office, her eyes wide, red hair splayed all over. _“Mike! Are you two okay?”_ Mike looked at her, blue eyes wide, a million thoughts dancing in his head. 

_“We’re fine, Donna. Harvey’s with Jessica.”_

Donna nodded solemnly. _“Always hated that Pritch douche. What did he say to get to Harvey?”_

Mike cradled his head with both hands and rubbed his eyes with the balls of his hands. _“He called me a fucking cunt.”_

Donna’s head snapped, _“He did what?”_

 _“And he tried to hit me.”_

It was Donna’s turn to stare wide-eyed. She shook her head incredulously. _“Oh, he’s going to get it.”_

Mike buried his head deeper in his palms, _“I know. God, I put Harvey in trouble again. What am I going to do?”_

Donna gave him a look like she’s speaking to a child. _“Mike, I’m talking about Pritch.”_ She continued: _“He assaulted you. In front of Harvey. If someone’s in trouble, it’s Pritch.”_

Not for the first time that day, Mike found his genius brain trying to process. _And here I was having such a good day,_ he thought. Still, this was standard procedure in Pearson Hardman. No day went by without the crises, the high stakes, the theatrics, all muted behind a prudently-placed restraint. 

_“Mike, you know what Harvey would want you to do?”_ Donna’s voice a touch playful. 

_“Finish that Petition.”_ Mike answered. 

Donna’s smile was surprisingly reassuring, _“Then that’s what you do, kid.”_

**Harvey Specter**  
At 7:15, Harvey realized he hasn’t had anything but half-decent salad. Murray and Sons was a big enough client to merit Harvey Specter’s personal attention even without Pritch’s multifarious extracurricular activities. So even after an afternoon which by itself deserved an early glass of scotch, Jessica thought it prudent that Harvey clean up the company’s legal tax accountabilities. Mundane enough. Harvey knew it was Jessica’s way of making sure he doesn’t euthanize the bastard. 

Still, it had been a long day, tiring for the most part. Save for the few minutes he got to talk to Mike, the rest of the day had been pretty ordinary by Harvey Specter standards. _Life is this. I like this_ , he’d say, gesturing with his hand. But even _this_ wasn’t cutting for Harvey these days. So he found himself grabbing his suit jacket and heading to the bullpen. 

It was almost eight in the evening. The bullpen was empty save for a female associate who turned in for the day a few minutes later. Harvey leaned on the door frame and stared at his associate. Mike was transfixed at the screen, no doubt re-reading the Petition he spent the entire day writing. Times like this, Harvey would allow himself the simple satisfaction of seeing Mike - Mike with eyebrows furrowed, lips moving from reading, hair slightly disheveled. Mike who is fully engaged and present, quiet and completely in control. This is Mike in his element. 

When he looked up, Mike saw him. Harvey himself straightened up, trying to look discreet, trying to look like he wasn’t caught dead staring at his associate. But then Mike smiled – not in that vain, smug _I caught you_ smile that Harvey would have definitely done if it was the other way around. That smile – it was tired, content and warm – like he was coming home, like it was the most natural thing in the world to see Harvey leaning by the door frame waiting. 

So Harvey relaxed but didn’t move. He just looked on as Mike turn his computer off, slung his messenger bag, and walk towards him. Harvey opened his mouth to say _“Have Donna send me a copy first thing tomorrow so I can check your undoubtedly incompetent –-"_


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big big thanks and warm hugs to everyone who left kudos and helped make this fic better and inspired me to write! Last chapter!

**Mike Ross**  
Mike grew up knowing he was special. But the world he grew up in - the world that he battled and withstood, the world that included selling drugs and being a hired test-taker, the world where running from cops was an inevitability, the world where his best hope was a couple of hundred dollars in an afternoon and going home to a crappy apartment where he can spend the evening lost in a cloud of smoke – that world clearly didn’t think he was special. 

Then he met Harvey. Harvey who barks orders, Harvey who demands everything Mike’s got like it was his birthright. It’s not that Harvey made Mike feel special – not by a long shot. 

Only, Harvey brought him into a world where he _can_ be special, where Mike can work his way to being special, be worthy of Harvey’s trust, earn his place by Harvey’s side. 

 

Mike has had a lifetime of wrong choices. He’s taken wrong turns and fell into manholes. He has an unfortunate ability to screw things up and dive headfirst in trouble. 

But once in a while, Mike gets it right.

_“Have Donna send me a copy first thing tomorrow so I can check your undoubtedly incompetent –-"_

When Mike remembers that time when he kissed Harvey Specter, he will remember that his eyes were closed. He will remember that he didn’t so much as reach out to Harvey as Harvey caught him. Mike will remember that there was a missing second between walking towards Harvey and that moment when their lips met, where everything just blurred and it felt like falling, falling, diving from air. He will remember that Harvey caught him, hands on hips keeping him in place – strong and certain and perfect. He will remember that if seconds can skip, they can also extend to a delicious beautiful infinity.

Harvey broke the kiss, bringing Mike back to the present. Mike let go of the touch. When Harvey looked at him, Mike had to catch his breath. Harvey up close, all dark eyes and facial lines – it was too much, too near, too beautiful. _"I’m sorry"_ , Mike breathed. Harvey chuckled, _“For what exactly? For interrupting me? For your insub- ”_

 _“For today…”_ Mike cut in, eyes lowered. 

_“This habit of interrupting, it’s going to get you slapped one day.”_ Harvey remarked. Mike tensed up visibly, his hands removing themselves from Harvey's suit.

 _“Mike.”_ Harvey called - practiced, natural. _“Like I’d let them.”_

There was Harvey’s smile, there were his arms, protective and in place, there was Mike’s grin forming on his lips, there was that moment, locked in forever, and there was that day.

It was Mike who asked, Mike who ached to know, who ached not to let go, Mike who was special and loved, Mike who shone from just being near this sun: _“What happens now?”_

 _“Tonight, how ‘bout dinner? And then – ”_ Harvey’s smile still not fading. 

_“ – and then, tomorrow?"_ Mike interrupted for the millionth time that day.

It was Harvey who answered - Harvey who could barely answer from sheer joy of the prospect of tomorrow spent in an embrace like this, Harvey who was born to have all the answers and be steady and strong: _“Tomorrow, we’ll still have this.”_

**Epilogue**  
 _Life is this,_  
 _I like this._  
Harvey used to say.

But this life that they made, the home they built, the dinners spent talking about baseball and mergers in the same breath, the rides in the town car in quiet conversation on their way home, the adrenaline in courtrooms and moments in file rooms, in glass offices and cubicles, the meetings and conferences in between, the endless hours of drafting pleadings and proofreading, the long days and longer nights, the stolen lunch hours, the warm hamburgers and pizzas, the movie quotes that can last a lifetime, Harvey looking when Mike doesn’t notice, Mike dropping by Harvey’s office for no other reason than to knock and smile and just be Mike, the lifetime of first times and kisses and ordinary days, of waking up and coming home to each other…

There really is no hand gesture for that.


End file.
